


Cold Comfort

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, New Jersey, Snow, Steve and his control issues, Steve and his motion sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: The only thing worse than someone else driving is someone else driving in a blizzard, while belting Fleetwood Mac, down a highway that's more pothole than road.Aka Steve and Danny visit New Jersey in winter.





	Cold Comfort

Danny’s internal clock never switched over from Eastern Standard; that must be it. Why he hates Hawaii. Why he’s tired all the time. Why now, when it’s not even 0700 in Jersey, meaning it’s not even 0200 back in Oahu, Danny is wide awake and singing along to his mom’s Fleetwood Mac CD while Steve is, admittedly, exhausted. Danny’s secretly an early bird. He’s just usually in the wrong time zone.

Steve is currently in the wrong time zone. His watch is telling him he should be an hour into his day by now, workout and breakfast already checked off the list, headed for the shower, but all he’s done so far is shuffle from a couch to a car and already he needs a nap.

The cold’s not helping.

Because maybe a normal guy could close his eyes and doze right now but cold means _be on alert_ and unfamiliar surrounds mean _be on alert_ so Steve finds himself drowsy but also hyper-aware.

It’s a combination he’s well accustomed to, but still he doesn’t like it; he also doesn’t like not driving, or not being in charge of the thermostat.

“This is revenge for you. Isn’t it?”

Danny stops singing and looks over, smirking. “Pouty pouty. Commandeering my car is one thing, but taking over my mom’s, that wasn’t gonna happen.”

“It’s snowing.”

“Which is all the more reason I should be driving. Have you ever driven in snow?”

He has; he’s driven in a _blizzard_ , thanks. But it’s a long (and classified) story, so he keeps his mouth shut. Danny goes back to singing. Steve could almost excuse it if the CD had been left in the player when they’d borrowed the car to drive up to Stella’s yesterday, but it wasn’t; Danny had sung his way through that one (Tom Petty) yesterday and then, this morning, had carefully selected this one for the drive back.

 _I want you here before the storm_ , Clara had said. Steve had assumed it was just a ploy to get them back early, because it’s March for godssake, but apparently there’s actually a storm coming.

Or here. There’s a storm already here. Between the wind tossing them around and Danny swerving to avoid the plentiful potholes, they’re spending a good 25% of the time at least partway out of their lane. At least the road’s mostly empty.

Although that just seems to make Danny feel more empowered to drive however/wherever he wants.

 _Crap_.

“You,” Steve huffs, “never get to complain about my driving again.”

But Danny just grins, as he and Stevie Nicks sing, _thunder only happens when it’s raining—players only love you when they’re playing—_

It starts in his guts, yeah. But not badly, not bad enough to be sick; where it’s really got him is his nerves, his system, and he realizes after a moment that he knows this feeling: adrenaline, fight or flight.

_Say women, they will come and they will go—when the rain washes you clean, you’ll know—_

Fight or flight, there’s nothing to do and there’s nowhere to go, and Steve feels his breath hitch. _Shit_. He tries to find a rhythm, four seconds in, four seconds out, but the sky’s a matte, dead blue and the snowflakes are whirling in the orange haloes of the lights off the highway, and Danny’s still singing, voice flat and blunt over the hectic tinkling of the song—

Too much input.

Too much motion.

The car swings from one side of the lane to the other and back again, clipping the empty air in the lane beside them.

“Babe,” Danny says, turning to look at him.

“Watch the road,” Steve gets out. He’s definitely breathing too fast now, and he knows Danny knows too, and why is the passenger seat of a car (with his best friend at the wheel, no less) the place in the world he feels the most vulnerable? He’s been to war. He’s been shot, kidnapped, near death half a dozen times. But god forbid he ride shotgun—

The next time Danny swerves, it’s a bit gentler, and Steve realizes they’re changing lanes, exiting. Danny eases the car off the highway. A few more potholes and one left turn later and they’re pulling into the parking lot of a Dunkin Donuts, its almost-tropical colors absurd in the middle of the snow.

“Why’d we stop?”

“Morning. I need coffee.”

“Why’d we stop?”

Danny scowls, and Steve gets it. A normal guy would just accept the kindness; wouldn’t see the need to press Danny to actually say it.

“Because,” Danny sighs, “I am a better person than you are and when I am driving and see that my, uh, my passenger is about to have a panic attack, I pull over, because that’s what good people do.”

“I’m not about to have a panic attack, Danny.”

“Fine,” Danny snaps. “Then back to the coffee reason. Stay!” And he grabs his wallet and opens the door, slamming it shut behind him as he leaves.

Steve slams his open. He’s 97% sure he’s not actually going to throw up, but he swings his legs out of the car and sits, head between his knees, pulling in lungfuls of frozen air. It’s fine. It’s fine now. They stopped, they’re off the highway, everything’s okay.

But that. That was a bad one. Less nausea, more—what? Sense of spinning out, loss of control. Too dark, too snowy, too loud, and he’s too tired.

Fuck, he’s so tired.

He gets down a couple more breaths before the cold starts to make his nose run, then he shuffles himself back into the car. Shuts the door. Wipes his nose so Danny won’t think he’s been crying (panicking, okay, there’s been a bit of that, but no tears. Cold comfort that that is.)

Alone in the car Steve sits and slows his breathing. Outside he hears the storm, other cars, life, but inside it’s still. He lets himself sink into it.

Then the other door opens, and in comes snow and wind and Danny Williams.

“Coffee,” Danny grunts. He reaches inside the car and shoves a cup at Steve before plopping onto the seat and closing the door behind himself. “It’s black. They laughed at me when I asked for butter.”

Steve says nothing.

“Okay, you caught me. I didn’t actually ask for your idiot butter.”

Steve feels himself smile a little at that. He’s too queasy to drink the coffee but the smell is familiar, calming, and having something hot in his frigid hands feels amazing. Already he’s shaking less.

Then Danny reaches over and strokes through Steve’s hair; his fingers are warm from holding his own cup as he brushes snow away. “You go outside?”

“Mm.” Steve shivers as an icy drop slides beneath his collar.

“You look terrible, huh? You look terrible enough I actually feel bad, how about that?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine. Fine like you’re actually fine or fine like I should be finding you a paper bag to breathe in fine? Or, or, or a plastic bag to toss your cookies in fine?”

“I’m fine.” There’s an ice clump melting into a raindrop on the lid of his cup. “I don’t like driving in snow.”

“Some people just aren’t cut out for winter, babe. But hey. How you feel about snow right now? I just want you to remember, that’s how I feel about sand, okay?”

“Sand doesn’t cause car accidents.”

When he looks back up Danny’s got on a funny expression; Steve doesn’t have a name for it, exactly, but the emotion he sees there seems— bigger than he would have expected. But that’s Danny.

“Ten, fifteen more minutes,” he says, starting the car. “You good for it?”

“Yeah.”

“I think Bridget an’ the kids are comin’ over to get snowed in with us. Hot chocolate, make some cookies, stay in pajamas. We’ll put on a movie. You’ll love the snow, once we’re out of it.”

Steve nods, and chances a sip of his coffee; funny enough, it actually helps his stomach settle.

“We good?”

“Said I was.”

Danny snorts at this and reverses out of the space, easing the car onto the road; the on-ramp’s close, and they’re back on the highway less than a minute later.

And it’s not like Steve enjoys himself. The snow’s worse, really starting to obstruct their view, and Danny’s got to either swerve often or plow right over potholes, and both of these options lead to a pretty rough ride. Steve’s stomach is in knots again within the first mile.

But the coffee’s still warm in his hands, and Danny’s turned off the music—probably just to concentrate, but whatever the reason Steve’s grateful. It’s all a little less now. So despite the queasiness coming back he still feels more or less in control, and his breathing stays normal.

They’ll be home soon. And even though Danny can’t keep the car in a straight line—literally, he can’t—Steve thinks that maybe he’s slowed it down, a little.

Home soon. Hot chocolate and cookies, and a pretty high chance of taking a nap in Danny’s parent’s living room.

Steve pulls a slow breath, and watches the road ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm also from Jersey, and as you may or may not know, we've been having a stupid amount of late winter snow this year. I was driving to work the other day in the middle of a pretty bad storm and couldn't get it out of my mind how much Steve would have _hated_ it. And so this was born.


End file.
